


They fly so high, nearly reach the sky

by OnlySkyAboveMe



Series: Dance the skies (on laughter-silvered wings) [3]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Baby Snuggles, Bubbles - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Pilots!AU, Sparkling Moments Challenge, cute family moments, hint of sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23278771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlySkyAboveMe/pseuds/OnlySkyAboveMe
Summary: I'm forever blowing bubbles,Pretty bubbles in the air,They fly so high, nearly reach the sky,Then like my dreams they fade and die.Fortune's always hiding,I've looked everywhere,I'm forever blowing bubbles,Pretty bubbles in the air.
Relationships: Scott Moir & Tessa Virtue, Scott Moir/Tessa Virtue
Series: Dance the skies (on laughter-silvered wings) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1544374
Comments: 29
Kudos: 68





	They fly so high, nearly reach the sky

**Author's Note:**

> I do hope that everyone is well and is keeping their distance from each other!  
Thank you to the people on twitter who requested something from this 'verse. I've enjoyed cobbling it together whilst I grapple with a nasty head cold and navigating working from home.  
I hope this brings you some joy and respite in uncertain time. Please take care of yourselves!!!

_ i. _

This rarely happens now, that they see each other in the pilots’ lounge at Pearson, and certainly not for long enough that they can sit and enjoy each other’s company as they prepare for their respective flights. But today a late inbound aircraft has done them a favour, and they find themselves sitting in a quiet corner of the lounge, both enjoying a cup of hot water with lemon, whilst Scott rubs small circles into her lower back.

Tessa is checking a weather report and Scott is not so discreetly making an online reservation for dinner tomorrow night when she feels it. A fluttering sensation in her abdomen, like bubbles cascading from one of those little plastic sticks that kids blow through. It stops for a moment and she freezes, willing it to start again, just to reassure her that she wasn’t imagining it.

“Babe? Wha-” Scott starts, but she silences him by pressing her hand to his thigh under the table as the bubbles start again, a smile pulling at her lips as her eyes drop down to the barely visible swell of her stomach beneath her jacket. “You okay?” he mumbles, a hint of worry in his voice.

“They’re moving,” she whispers, lifting her eyes so she can look into his, her grin broadening as his features shift from worry, to surprise, to elation, in the space of a few blinks. He opens his mouth to speak, but doesn’t seem to be able to find the words; instead he grins in that soft, boyish way that she has always found so endearing, takes her hand and squeezes it gently.

Her phone pings on the table; her aircraft has landed and it’s time for them to part ways until tomorrow. She sighs in disappointment, not wanting this moment to end just yet, even though they’re about to have four days off together — also a rare occurrence these days.

“Hey, come with me,” he says, pulling her up and leading her by the hand to one of the private rooms. She follows eagerly, ignoring the raised eyebrow of one of the older pilots in the lounge as they pass him by. He locks the door behind him, and she’s about to reluctantly say they don’t have time for this today (though she’ll always deny to anyone who asks whether they’ve hooked up at this, or any, airport) when his arms wrap around her and pull her into him, lowering his face to rest in the juncture of her neck and shoulder. 

She returns his hug, tightly, relishing the moment of peace as they sway gently on the spot and breathe deeply together, a smile reflexively returning to her face when she feels the fluttering once more. In a few months, everything will change all over again, and she can’t wait. But, for now, she’s going to bask in the company of her little family for just a bit longer.

* * *

_ ii. _

Scott is just lying Oscar down on the fluffy bath mat when he hears the front door slam downstairs, and he smiles as he carefully unpoppers the little boy’s onesie, counting down from ten as he does so.

“... three… two… one…”

“I’m here, I’m here,” Tessa says, breathlessly, as she skids into the bathroom, still wearing her captain’s jacket and hat, socked feet sliding on the tiled floor. Scott stands and removes her hat as she washes her hands, then slips her jacket off her shoulders so she can finish getting their son ready for bath time.

Oscar’s face lights up as she drops to her knees next to him, and she catches his waving arms and presses kisses to his tiny hands. When she pretends to eat them, with sound effects and all, Oscar lets out the most delightful sound; part shriek, part deep, belly laugh. Scott freezes and Tessa’s head whips around to him, asking with just a look if this has already happened today. A smile spreads slowly across his face as he shakes his head at his wife. He slowly sinks to the floor next to her and rests his hand on her thigh as her eyes fill with tears.

“Did you wait for me to get home to do that?” Tessa asks Oscar softly, voice filled with awe and emotion as she ducks her head and concentrates intently on removing his diaper. When it’s gone she scoops him up into her arms and holds him against her chest, her chin resting against the bald spot on the top of his head. “I’m sorry I’m not here all the time, sweetie,” she whispers. “But thanks for saving that for me.”

She takes a few deep breaths, then sniffs and composes herself, dangling her fingers into the waiting bath water to check the temperature. “Okay, little man. Shall we get you nice and clean and ready for bed?” She lifts him away from her chest but one of his fists remains clenched in the white cotton of her shirt, a couple of the buttons coming undone as she attempts to pull him away. 

Eventually Scott manages to coax his hand open and away, though only as far as grasping around his ring finger. “Aren’t you smart?” he coos, as between them they lower their baby into the plastic bath support. “I’m sure Mommy will have milk for you when we’re all done here, don’t worry.”

Oscar’s precious laughter is soon forgotten as he protests at getting wet, little feet and fists thrashing enough to ensure that Scott and Tessa come away from the experience soaked as well. They get him cleaned up as quickly as possible, using all the soothing noises in their arsenal as Tessa carefully washes his hair, both of them drowned out by his cries echoing loudly in their bathroom. 

Scott tries to distract him with a rubber duck as Tessa slips off her sodden shirt, leaving her just in a nude, silk camisole and simple cotton nursing bra. He nearly drops the toy as his gaze shifts to his wife, who is leaning back over the bathtub and trying to soothe their screaming son; more creamy, freckled skin on display than he’s seen in a few weeks, what with flight schedules, overwhelming exhaustion and a frequently crying infant. 

His attention is brought back to his son, though, as silence descends over the bathroom.

“There we go,” soothes Tessa, gently running the washcloth down his arms, “what was all that fuss about, hmm?”

Oscar smiles up at her, then farts impressively, the water around his bottom bubbling up. Scott starts shaking with laughter just as Oscar begins to wail again.

“Quick,” says Scott, “let’s get him out before he poos in there, I’ve already cleaned this tub today!”

Tessa gets him out of the bath, dried, and in a fresh diaper and sleepsuit in record time, but their little one is still whimpering inconsolably and rooting around against her chest and in the end she just leans against the damp edge of the tub, unclips her bra and feeds him right there in the bathroom, his snuffles slowing as he eats eagerly, fingers clenching and flexing around Tessa’s pinkie.

He slips out of the room and returns a couple of minutes later with a glass of water for her, and he joins her on the bathmat and asks her about her day as they both look on at the small boy who’s lost the battle with his drooping eyelids, but is still suckling intently.

“Well, that’s not quite how I thought bedtime would go tonight,” says Tessa softly as she gazes down at Oscar 20 minutes later, fast asleep atop her crossed legs. Carefully, Scott extracts their son from where he rests in her lap and stands, holding his breath as the baby shifts a little, then he reaches his free hand out to pull Tessa up from the floor. 

“Will these things ever go as planned?” he asks as they make their way down the corridor to the nursery.

“Probably not,” she concedes as they walk into the darkened room, carefully set Oscar down in his crib, and press kisses to his head. “On the plus side,” she says as they exit the room, “he’s asleep 45 minutes earlier than we expected.” She tugs on his hand and he turns to face her and she immediately surges forward to press her lips to his. He pulls her close, hands slipping low to grab at her ass and she moans and rolls her hips against his. “Dinner can wait, right?” she asks, breathless.

“Definitely,” he says, lifting her up and smirking against her lips when she locks her ankles around his back.

He doesn’t let go of her until they’re lying on their bed, sweating and gasping for breath and the faint smell of burnt rice begins to float up the stairs.

* * *

_ iii. _

Tessa makes her way carefully down the stairs from Scott’s childhood bedroom with a very happy and alert Juliette in her arms. Freshly awoken from her nap and with a belly full of milk, their dinky little five-month-old’s eyes are wide and curious under the brim of her sunhat as she gazes out into the garden.

The garden, of course, is absolute chaos, because it’s Canada Day and they’re at the Moir house in Ilderton. There are balls and shuttlecocks flying through the air, two grills being fired up by Joe, and most of the adults and teenagers are currently partaking in a very rowdy game of human curling on a large plastic sheet, with the littlest members of the family acting as stones. Tessa lowers herself and Juliette into the swing seat next to Alma, who quickly takes the tiny girl off her hands with a coo of delight.

“Hello, my precious girl, did you have a good nap?” Alma asks, and is treated with a gummy smile in response, before Juliette makes an accurate grab for the daisy chain hanging around her neck, destroying Charlotte’s careful morning’s work with just one clench of her fist.

“Oopsie daisy,” says Tessa without even thinking, prompting herself and Alma to burst out laughing and catching the attention of the rest of the family on the grass.

“Mommy!” Oscar comes dashing up to them on the deck, face flushed and sweat plastering his recently-cut hair against his head, his hat seemingly long-lost on the slip n’ slide. “Mommy, can Ettie play?”

“Oscar!!” Charlie yells across the garden, waving his arms around. “You can’t leave the house until we finish the end!”

“Oops,” says Oscar under his breath, before shrugging and continuing up the steps to the shade and the company of the women in his life, accepting Tessa’s proffered glass of water and chugging it noisily.

“What’s going on with your trunks, Oscar?” Tessa asks, noticing that one side of Oscar’s swimming trunks are falling down. Oscar wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then grins hugely as he produces a hockey puck from the depths of the pocket.

“I scored the winning goal, so Uncle Danny said I could keep it,” he announces proudly.

“You did?!” says Tessa, eyes wide with amazement, holding her hands up for a high ten. “What an amazing boy you are.”

Oscar’s ears go pink under his mother’s praise, but he flops into her arms anyway, accepting her hugs and kisses. Juliette squarks shrilly from her grandmother’s arms next to them.

“Are you cheering your brother on, Juliette?” asks Tessa.

“Oscar! Oscar! Oscar!” sing-songs Alma in a squeaky voice as she moves Juliette’s arms up and down, eliciting giggles from the little girl.

“Granny,” Quinn sounds upset as she climbs the steps of the deck, holding two sticks and a dripping bit of rope in her hands. “Granny, the bubble maker broke!”

“Oh no, sweetie, I’m sorry,” Alma says, “have you tried to fix it?”

“I can’t figure it out, and Mommy has raw chicken all over her hands,” whines Quinn, eye filling with tears.

“Can I help?” asks Oscar, curiously, absentmindedly passing the puck to Juliette and reaching for the sticks in his cousin's hand.

“He’s such a sweetie,” says Alma a moment later as she watches the two children head back across the lawn. “As are you, little miss,” she says, bouncing Juliette on her knee, the baby grasping tightly onto the puck and waving it around in front of her. “I meant to ask, Tess, how did she get on at her check-up?”

“Oh, she passed with flying colours,” says Tessa proudly, turning her attention back to her daughter once more. “Dr Khan said she’s fully caught up, that you’d only know she was eight weeks early by how tiny she is.”

“Small but mighty,” asserts Alma, pressing a kiss to the top of Juliette’s head.

“Mighty strong!” exclaims Tessa as she takes hold of the puck and tries to prize it from Juliette’s hands.

“Oh, look at that,” says Alma, looking out across the garden. Tessa glances up from Juliette and sees Oscar running around the lawn with a trail of enormous bubbles floating behind him, followed by the rest of the children, who are all shrieking with glee. “Oscar fixed it.”

Tessa’s eyes widen and she looks in Scott’s direction, her husband standing there in the middle of the lawn with his squeegee taped to a hockey stick and his mouth hanging open at what their son has managed to do. Meanwhile, one of Oscar’s giant bubbles has floated in their direction and pops against the guttering above them, showering them in washing-up liquid.

* * *

_ iv. _

“Roxie, no!” Oscar’s urgent cry is followed by a high-pitched shriek and a sizeable-sounding splash, and has Tessa skidding out of the kitchen just as a wet blur of yellow and white shoots past her towards the front door. Two soaking wet children follow, stopping abruptly before they go careering into her.

“What on earth happened here?” asks Scott from the doorway, where he stands holding onto the collar of a wet and very sudsy golden retriever, whose wagging tail is sending water and soap suds flying everywhere.

“Roxie needed a bath,” explains Juliette, matter-of-factly as Oscar looks on, wide-eyed and sheepish. “Ossie put too much shampoo in.”

“The bottle slipped out my hand,” the boy replies in annoyance, both at being called out and by the use of his least favourite nickname. “Mom, Ettie didn’t get changed like you asked,” he points out, trying to divert the blame away from himself.

Tessa’s head whips around to her daughter, registering for the first time that yes, the 10-year old is still wearing half her hockey kit, her Junior Knights jersey plastered to her torso, and one sock halfway off her foot. “Juliette Eleanor Moir! I told you explicitly…”

“ _ Explicitly! _ ” reiterates Oscar, goading his sister. She sticks her tongue out at him in response, and knocks her clenched fists together twice in front of his face. Tessa sighs and brings her fingers up to press against the bridge of her nose, regretting her decision to allow them to watch the entire box set of  _ Friends _ over the past few weeks whilst Oscar has been home all day.

“Mom!” Oscar cries in protest at his sister’s gesture.

“Right, enough!” says Scott, firmly, and all heads (including the dog’s) turn to him. “Oscar, take your dog and rinse all these suds off, get in the shower with her if you have to. Juliette, go straight to the laundry room and hang up your gear to dry, if it’s frozen solid by the end of your game tomorrow you only have yourself to blame. Tess… ” he looks at her softly, head cocked to the side, and she glances away, knowing she cannot hide even the faintest redness of her eyes from him. “... come here and give me a hug.”

Their children look confused for a moment, but one raised eyebrow from their father is enough to send them scampering off to do as they’re told as Tessa steps into his warm embrace. He smells like the rink and the tip of his nose is cold when he presses a kiss to the side of her head. A bark from the bathroom breaks them apart and Scott sighs, “I better go and help the kid out.”

Tessa giggles to herself as a steady stream of expletives and exacerbated sighs come from the bathroom in the next 10 minutes, but eventually a fresh-smelling Roxie trots happily into the kitchen and sits patiently at her feet as Tessa stirs the pasta sauce, followed shortly after by Scott and Oscar, both grumbling under their breath as they towel their hair dry.

Later, when they’re all clean, dry and full from dinner, they move to sit together in the lounge. Juliette and Scott perched on the edge of the couch, utterly absorbed in the hockey game, whilst Oscar lies with his head in Tessa’s lap, completely ensconced in  _ The Amber Spyglass _ as she cards her fingers through his light brown hair, pretending to read her own book but actually just looking at her son fondly.

She’d had a little cry to herself in the kitchen earlier when she heard his laughter coming from the downstairs bathroom as he and Juliette wrestled Roxie into the bathtub. The happy, healthy 14-year-old boy currently lying with his head in her lap a far cry from the one who, six weeks ago, she had held, unconscious, against her chest as Scott rubbed jam into his gums as he spoke with a paramedic over speakerphone. 

Her phone buzzes next to her, and she lifts it, flicking away the reminder and waves it over the Libre patch on Oscar’s arm.

“Mom,” he grumbles, not looking away from his place in the book. “I checked it 20 minutes ago, and Roxie is right there.”

Upon hearing her name, the golden retriever raises her head and looks at Oscar expectantly.

“It’s okay, girl,” he says, softly. “Go back to sleep.”

Roxie sneezes in response, a bubble of shampoo floating from her nose, and all four Moirs watch it as it drifts away and pops against the carpet.

“Next time, I’ll wash the dog,” mutters Tessa.

* * *

_ v. _

“May I propose a toast?” says Tessa over the noise of their extended family, tapping her champagne glass lightly with her butter knife. Juliette catches her brother’s eye across the table and rolls hers fondly when his cheeks go pink as their mother stands up next to him.

“Before the food arrives and we dig in, I just wanted to say how proud Scott and I are of you, Oscar. Of course, we are proud every single day, but today is extra special.” She squeezes his shoulder right as their dad pats his knee under the table, and her brother ducks his head shyly and pushes his glasses up his nose.

“I’m not sure we thought we would ever see the day you crossed a stage to collect your MSc in Aeronautical Engineering, but life takes many an interesting turn…” Their mother pauses for just a second, composing herself before continuing. Juliette swallows hard, her own eyes starting to burn as she watches her father blink rapidly. “And we know that your dreams have had to change, and that you had no real say in how that came about. But we are so proud of the way you embraced that change, and channelled your disappointment into something different. And we can’t believe you’re about to head off to work for NASA…”

Her words trail off as a tear falls silently down her cheek. Her mom hardly ever cries, it’s dad who’s the emotional one. He once got fake mad at her for crying over a movie and setting him off, though Juiette has since watched  _ The Notebook _ and has decided that her mom’s tears were perfectly valid.

Scott’s chair scrapes against the floor as he stands too, taking Tessa’s hand behind Oscar’s back. She shakes her head, unable to continue, so he raises his glass and smiles wetly down at his son.

“To Oscar,” he says with a broad grin.

“To Oscar!” responds the rest of the family, followed by a bark from Audrey where she’s lying under Juliette’s chair, the puppy-in-training excited by the commotion, meanwhile Roxie sits patiently between Oscar and Tessa, accustomed to the amount of noise the amassed Moirs and Virtues makes between them.

Their family stands and makes the rounds with one another, clinking glasses together and wishing Oscar their congratulations. When she finally gets to him she taps her champagne flute lightly against his. “Congrats, big brother,” she says with a smile. “You’ve always been my favourite nerd, after Mom of course.”

“Thanks, Ettie,” he says foldly, pulling her into his side for a hug before whispering, “I’ll buy you a bottle of this tomorrow.”

“Um, why?” she squeaks, heart beating a little faster.  _ Does he know? _

“I saw the box of Team Canada training gear on your bed this morning,” he says under his breath, throwing a quick smile at their mother who is looking over at them curiously. “I knew you’d make the squad.” He squeezes her shoulder a little tighter. “You could have told them today, you know, I wouldn’t have minded.”

“No, today is your day. It can wait.” Then it registers what he said, “Why were you in my room?” 

“I ran out of tape and I have a pick-up game tomorrow.”

“You better not have used my expensive stuff, Ossie,” she growls out of the corner of her mouth.

“Of course I didn’t,” he mumbles without moving his lips, “and please stop calling me that. Now drink your champagne, or Mom and Dad are going to come over and ask why we’re arguing!”

She looks up and sees two sets of eyes on them, so she smiles, raises her glass towards her parents, then takes a long sip, relishing the fizz of the bubbles as they dance across her tongue.

**Author's Note:**

> Boo's mention of sparkles and pictures of bubble baths turned the second scene about bath time into a whole mini series along the theme of bubbles... I don't understand my brain either, don't worry! Thanks, Boo, for suggesting this challenge, it was great fun.


End file.
